Cooking Lessons
by ailaxolotl
Summary: Obviously, Ling can't cook, and disaster quickly ensues. Oneshot, T for language. Please give me feedback!


"Hey Ling, would you mind making dinner tonight?"

"Actually, I would. Why can't you?"

"Mustang is making me stay late, and I'm really not in the mood for takeout."

"Sure, sure. What should I make?"

"There's some chicken in the fridge, and we should have enough vegetables to make a decent salad."

"O…kay?"

"…You do know how to cook chicken, right? I mean, it doesn't get much easier than that."

"Don't worry, Ed. I've got it! You'll have a delicious meal waiting for you when you get home!"

"Right, right. Just don't burn the house down or anything, okay?"

_ Well,_ Ling thought, eyeing the packet of meat Edward had called chicken (though it looked nothing like the chicken that frequented Xing), _this should be interesting._

And it wasn't his fault he didn't know how to cook, after all. He was a prince of Xing! His servants had always taken excellent care of him, so there was never a need to learn how to prepare a meal. And cooking in Xing was far less complicated. There were no refrigerators, and definitely no ovens that were _impossible_ to get running-Ling had just turned dials at random and hoped for the best. Speaking of, the damned device was beeping and _wouldn't shut up._ Ling supposed that was his signal to actually cook the chicken. He hesitantly reached out and grabbed one of the squishy chunks of meat, observing it cautiously. Deeming it safe, if only for the moment, Ling laid it down on what Edward called a "cooking sheet", three more quickly filling up the remaining space. _Now what?_ He had seen Edward putting some kind of spices on poultry before. Surely one couldn't go wrong with salt and pepper, right? Ling opened a cabinet, revealing an array of spices and other odds and ends. He grabbed the salt and pepper (those, at least, he was familiar with) but stopped when he saw another familiar title, taking rest on small container-cayenne.

Ling brightened considerably. The food in Amestris, while likable, definitely lacked the bold flavors that were commonplace in Ling's homeland. He grabbed the container, along with the salt and pepper, and dumped a generous amount of all three onto the chicken. The Xingian hummed a nameless tune as he placed the cooking tray into the oven. Then, looking at the relatively small disaster he had left in his wake with extreme satisfaction, Ling let out a rather large yawn and figured he had earned a good nap.

Ling had expected to be awoken by the beeping of the oven, or maybe the gentle shake of his arm by Edward. Perhaps the smell of the chicken would find its way to his nose and pull him from sleep.

He did not, however, anticipate being violently wrenched from sleep by the loud "fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK" echoing from the kitchen. He rushed out of bed and ran to the kitchen to come across a rather troubling scene: smoke was billowing in all directions, and right in the middle of the haze was Edward, coughing and taking the cooking tray out of the oven, all the while holding his shirt over his nose to keep away the acrid smell that had filled the house. Ling approached the tray slowly, hoping that maybe something in the charred, black chunks of meat was salvageable. This hope was quickly crushed by Edward as he tossed the food, tray and all, into the trash can. "What the hell, Ling?! When most people say 'don't burn the house down', they don't expect you to actually put an effort into _burning a freaking house down_!"

"I thought it would beep when the chicken was cooked-"

"It doesn't go off on its own, moron, you have to set a timer!" Oh. Well, then.

Edward sighed heavily, waving his hands in a halfhearted attempt to clear the lingering smoke. "You know what, I really should have seen this coming. You've probably never cooked a day in your life, huh?" Ling shook his head. "Alright, come here, then. I'll start you off with a salad, that's easy enough."

Ling did as instructed, and Edward rattled off several ingredients that Ling retrieved from the refrigerator. "You go ahead and start by chopping up the tomatoes and cucumber; I'll take care of the lettuce." Edward placed a knife in Ling's outstretched hand, a clear _don't-fuck-this-up _look etched in the set of his eyes and mouth.

Ling twirled the knife a few times in his hand before turning to the ingredients laid out before him. Now _this,_ he could do. Sure, it was no sword, but it was sharp and lethal and that was good enough for him.

Deciding the cucumber would be a sufficient initial combatant, Ling swung, brought the knife down upon the vegetable, and managed to nick his other hand that had held the honorable position of holding his opponent in place. "Ow, dammit!" Ling screeched. He placed the knife down and turned to look pitifully at Edward, who seemed rather unamused by his antics. "That's it. I give up. I think I'd rather starve."

Ed scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Pampered brat." He put down the head of lettuce he had been shredding and made his way over to Ling, standing behind him and grabbing his hands, guiding them over to the traitorous knife.

Ling leaned back into the broad expanse of Edward's chest, letting out a contented sigh and allowing a warm blush to cover his cheeks. "Yeah, don't get too comfortable, sap," Edward said, but his voice was gentle and so was his grip as he deftly helped Ling to slice the cucumber, making Ling's attempt at the job seem brutish in comparison.

"You never told me you can cook."

"I didn't think I needed to, considering you eat whatever I put on your plate. Three years of mostly taking care of myself kinda raised the need to be able to cook something edible."

"Hmm." Ling removed his hands from their light hold and turned around, his nose brushing Edward's ever so slightly.

For a few moments there was nothing more than the intermingling of their breaths and the feel of Edward's cheek under his hand. Then, in a soft exhale, their lips met, and Ling figured that if cooking would be like this, he certainly wouldn't mind.


End file.
